silence murmured without a voice into the cricket's chirping
and while the town lay deathly quiet something lurked on catlike feet
and pounced upon the steps of churches, burning with a screech of silence
quiet wind blew so unseemly and unheard into every unspoken word and phrase
the books are burning in the fire of a thousand brilliant stars!
while people stare so silently, their eyes reflecting every ember
no one is left who can remember because no one ever talks

you stare at every curve of feather, the flowing lines of ostrich grace
what word is it, to describe it? but your throat is ripped away
and left in gore upon the street, because silence came when you fell asleep
"you can't think these thoughts," the voices said
and when the war was over all voices were dead
but inside our stitched-up heads the words forever burned

the moon hung in the sky like a lantern full of yearning
what poet would describe it in a world with only silence?
monstrosity, curses, they bled from the verses
blacken the words with a felt-tipped pen
blank pages bleached white like the purest lamb
milk flowing from the veins because they bleached our skin
to make everybody white, you can't bleach the night

quiet rings a copper bell into the bottles breaking
green glass scattered round and round the scene of the murder
who was it died? why, it was me!
someone shouts but no words come out
they took our words to prevent perversion
the irony of intent's inversion